[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Smoke still churned out of themidsection, plumed from every rent and shattered window; shifting to thewhims of the wind, a black canopy spread over them and cast eerie,constantly changing shadows as it filtered the afternoon sunshine,raising in her mind the image of a grim kaleidoscope in which all thepieces of glass were either black or gray.Rescue workers andparamedics swarmed over the wreckage, searching for survivors, and theirnumbers were so unequal to the awesome task that some of the morefortunate passengers pitched in to help.Other passengers-some sountouched by the experience that they appeared freshly showered anddressed, others filthy and disheveled stood alone or in small groups,waiting for the minibuses that would take them to the Dubuque terminal,chattering nervously or stunned into silence.The only things threadingthe crash scene together and providing it with some coherence were thestatic-filled voices crackling on shortwave radios and walkie-talkies.Though Holly was searching for Jim Ironheart, she found instead a youngwoman in a yellow shirtwaist dress.The stranger was in her earlytwenties, slender, auburn-haired, with a porcelain face; and thoughuninjured she badly needed help.She was standing back from thestill-smoking rear section of the airliner, shouting a name over andover again: "Kenny!Kenny! Kenny!" She had shouted it so often that her voice was hoarse.Holly put a hand on the woman's shoulder and said, "Who is he?"The stranger's eyes were the precise blue of wisteria-and glazed."Have you seen Kenny?""Who is he, dear?""My husband.""What does he look like?"Dazed, she said, "We were on our honeymoon.""I'll help you look for him.""No.""Come on, kid, it'll be all right.""I don't want to look for him," the woman said, allowing Holly to turnher away from the plane and lead her toward the ambulances."I don'twant to see him.Not the way he'll be.All dead.All broken up andburned and dead."They walked together through the soft, tilled earth, where a new cropwould be planted in late winter and sprout up green and tender in thespring, by which time all signs of death would have been eradicated andnature's illusion of life-everlasting restored.Something was happening to Holly.A fundamental change was taking placein her.She didn't understand what it was yet, didn't know what itwould mean or how different a person she would be when it was complete,but she was aware of profound movement in the bedrock of her heart, hermind.Because her inner world was in such turmoil, she had no spare energy tocope with the outer world, so she placidly followed the standardpost-crash program with her fellow passengers.She was impressed by the web of emotional, psychological, and practicalsupport provided to survivors of Flight 246.Dubuque's medical andcivil defense community-which obviously had planned for such anemergency -responded swiftly and effectively.In additionpsychologists, counselors, ministers, priests, and a rabbi wereavailable to the uninjured passengers within minutes of their arrival atthe terminal.A large VIP lounge-with mahogany tables and comfortablechairs upholstered in nubby blue fabric -had been set aside for theiruse, ten or twelve telephone lines sequestered from normal airportoperations, and nurses provided to monitor them for signs of delayedshock.United's employees were especially solicitous, assisting with local overnight accommodations and new travel arrangements, as quickly as possiblereuniting the uninjured with friends or relatives who had beentransported to various hospitals, and compassionately conveying word ofloved ones' deaths.Their horror and grief seemed as deep as that ofthe passengers, and they were shaken and remorseful that such a thingcould happen with one of their planes.Holly saw a young woman in aUnited jacket turn suddenly and leave the room in tears, and all theothers, men and women alike, were pale and shaky.She found herselfwanting to console them, put an arm around them and tell them that eventhe best-built and best-maintained machines were doomed to fail sooneror later because human knowledge was imperfect and darkness was loose inthe world.Courage, dignity, and compassion were so universally in evidence undersuch trying circumstances that Holly was dismayed by the full-scalearrival of the media.She knew that dignity, at least, would be anearly victim of their assault.To be fair, they were only doing theirjob, the problems and pressures of which she knew too well.But thepercentage of reporters who could perform their work properly was nogreater than the percentage of plumbers who were competent or thepercentage of carpenters who could miter a doorframe perfectly everytime.The difference was that unfeeling, inept, or downright hostilereporters could cause their subjects considerable embarrassment and, insome cases, malign the innocent and permanently damage reputations,which was a lot worse than a backed-up drain or mismatched pieces ofwood molding.The whole spectrum of TV, radio, and print journalists swarmed into theairport and soon penetrated even those areas where their presence wasnormally restricted.Some were respectful of the survivors' emotionaland mental condition, but most of them badgered the United employeesabout "responsibility" and "moral obligation," or hounded the survivorsto reveal their innermost fears and relive the recent horror for thedelectation of news consumers
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]